


In The Night

by Lokaal



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Detective AU, Detective!Fenris, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Femme Fatale!Hawke, Getting Together, Murder Mystery, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9221318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokaal/pseuds/Lokaal
Summary: “Do you know what I’m thinking?” She asked, unable to remove the smirk from her lips.“I have no idea.”“Perhaps you should ask me out somewhere. Hell, you may even enjoy yourself.”She was waiting for a reply, watching his every movement. Fenris automatically went for the evasive answer, “What about the consequences of asking someone who is basically a witness on a date?”Hawke’s eyes flashed with glee and he knew immediately he had fallen into a trap. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, “Fuck consequences.”





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I've planned this story for 12 chapters + an epilogue, and I've already written the first few to keep ahead of schedule. I know I tagged it with the "graphic depictions of violence" tag but while there's blood and such in a few chapters, there's only one specific chapter that the tag really applies to and I'll give you a warning at the start of that chapter. 
> 
> The AU is basically 1950s-ish Kirkwall, without magic but everyone still has the same race (so Fenris is still an elf, Varric is still a dwarf, etc) and as soon as the idea came to me I had to write it! 
> 
> Enjoy ;p

Fenris didn’t believe he would ever adjust to the sight of a dead body. He didn’t feel nauseous, or even distressed. Instead he was unsettled, as though his skin crawled at just the thought of the willful disrespect of another person. 

In another way, however, he hated that he couldn’t take his eyes off it. The poor woman had her throat cut in a very distinct way, causing the entire area of the abandoned apartment in front of her to be painted in now dry red. 

“Dear Maker, this is the third body,” Aveline sighed deeply from beside him. Fenris froze before he could jump, not having realized Aveline had joined him. Tearing his gaze from the mutilated corpse, he looked toward the sheriff. 

“It’s the same style of killing, a brutal execution with no remorse,” Fenris found himself shaking his head. “Do you admit it yet, that we are dealing with a serial killer?” 

Aveline pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, then waved the photographers over to the body to record the gory details. “Yes, I admit it. Damn it, Fenris, you’re the detective. What do you suggest?” 

“Examine this scene like we did the last, and try to find similarities beyond the method of killing. We need some sort of link between all three.” 

“That’s an awfully dispassionate way of talking about these unlucky women.” 

Fenris shifted his weight from one foot to the other, briefly unsure how to reply. He had to be dispassionate, in many regards. What else did Aveline expect? He couldn’t do his job if he was spitting rage about the cruelty of the killer. Fenris knew in the back of his mind that maybe he should feel more than just unsettled and morbidly curious, but that did nothing to correct his thinking. “Have your people collect information and the body taken to the undertaker.” 

Nodding, Aveline ground her teeth but endured being instructed. Fenris may be pushing his luck, but he had been transferred here from Seheron at her request to investigate these murders just after the first body was found and he had the right to take charge with the investigation. 

“There was a woman I know outside the apartment,” Aveline mentioned just as Fenris was about to leave, having seen enough. He paused to listen. “She said that she knew this woman and I told her to wait outside. If she’s still there, I suggest you speak with her.” Aveline held her hand up for him to wait when he was about to leave again. A little irritated, he frowned and waited for Aveline to continue. “She can be a little difficult, but she may know something so just… weather it.” 

“Noted,” Fenris grunted, finally able to leave. He felt as though he could breathe once he was from the apartment; the stench of blood had a particular way of suffocating the senses. He took his time making his way down the many stairs to the ground floor, looking for any discrepancies he hadn’t noticed on the way up. There was nothing out of the ordinary, no splatters of blood or abandoned possessions. It was typical of the last two crime scenes –there was no evidence outside the room, the body and the blood. 

Reaching the ground floor, he passed two more police joining Aveline upstairs and made his way outside. True to Aveline’s word, there was a woman waiting, leaning on one of the streetlights just beyond the apartment. After waiting for a rickety car to pass them, Fenris crossed the road and approached her guardedly. 

She was watching him, gaze unwavering. She seemed to be a contradiction wrapped in a deep red coatdress, a string of pearls sitting on her collar bones peeking out from the dress’ broad collar. Her black hair sat in loose coils just above her shoulders, and her lips were a soft, vivid red, a perfect contrast to her sharp blue eyes. 

Fenris struggled to find his words. “Aveline said you knew the victim,” he finally spoke, coming to stand before her. “Is that true?” 

“Well,” she flashed him a grin. “You certainly have an interesting way of introducing yourself to a woman. How about giving me your name _before_ you begin the interrogation, hmm?” 

Opening his mouth and closing it again, Fenris settled on a frown instead. This only seemed to amuse her more. 

“Alright then, I’ll start. My name’s Hawke. Now, this is where you introduce yourself. ‘My name is…’?” 

He grunted his answer, “Fenris.” 

“Fenris,” Hawke cocked her head, grin not leaving her face. “Interesting. So, you wanted to interrogate me?” 

“Aveline suggested–” 

“Are you going to Hightown?” 

Fenris clenched his jaw. She seemed to be doing this on purpose, and taking considerable amounts of joy from Fenris’ agitation. Aveline hadn’t been overstating when she said ‘difficult’. “Yes, I live in Hightown. Why?” 

“I also live in Hightown, and it’s getting dark.” She waited expectantly, then leaned forward and whispered, “This is the moment you ask to walk me there.” 

He sighed quietly, “If I do that, will you answer my questions.” 

“Of course. That way, we both get something we want.” 

In truth, he couldn’t not give in. “Would you like me to walk you?” He asked, more tersely and bitterly than he intended. 

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask.” She had her hand on the inside of his arm in a moment, her gloved hand resting lightly on his grey suit. Usually he would object, his tattoos warming uncomfortably at the touch, but he found himself unable to. As they began along the sidewalk, Fenris found he couldn’t ignore their close proximity. Her high heels clicked rhythmically against the concrete and her body heat seeped into his. “Fenris,” she said after a few minutes of silence, his name rolling off her tongue. “What is it you wanted to ask me?” 

He tried to cast his mind back to the crime scene and the unfortunate victim. It did its intended purpose and sobered him enough to speak. They had her name from identification found on the body, but knew little else thus far. “How did you know her?” 

“She worked at the Hanged Man. Ever been there? Terrible drinks, but the best company in all of Kirkwall makes it worthwhile.” 

“She worked as a waitress?” 

“Of sorts. She served drinks, told people to keep their hands off and when to get out.” 

The first victim had worked at a drycleaners, and the second a trophy wife, neither of which had any connection to being a waitress. Serial killers had patterns, habits, motives; it was infuriating to only have the method of killing as a link. Assuming they weren’t copycat killings –unlikely, since the method of death wasn’t public knowledge– then someone was running rings around Fenris and Aveline’s police force. “Did she ever anger anyone of note? You said she told people to keep their hands off,” Fenris continued, letting his annoyance bleed into his voice. 

“Constantly. But my personal opinion? They were all too drunk to remember ten minutes after, let alone recall it well enough to commit premeditated murder.” 

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” 

“You’re getting it anyway, because I knew her and I know the regulars at the Hanged Man,” Hawke huffed, finally showing more than just her pleasant façade. He had a feeling it was just a pretense, and glimpsing a slightly more forceful side of her. “Besides,” she switched effortlessly back to bouncy tone. “It doesn’t coincide with the circumstances of the other victims, does it?” 

“No,” he admitted. “It does not.” 

The apartment where the woman was found wasn’t actually far from Hightown and soon the two were walking through the market square. All of the shopkeepers had locked their doors and turned their signs to ‘closed’, yet Hawke walked through like it was a bustling market in the middle of a sunny day. Fenris watched her out of the corner of his eye, noticing how that smile didn’t dull but her eyes were ever keen. 

“Where is your house?” Fenris asked, trying to distract himself. 

“This way,” she answered noncommittally, leading him like she had been the entire way there. He felt as though that should irritate him, yet he found he didn’t care. 

There was one thing, however, that was bothering him. “You don’t seem upset at all about what’s happened.” 

He felt more than saw Hawke shrug. “I can be angry at whoever did this and upset that she died, but that won’t get her justice or bring her back.”

She had logic like his, but for different reasons. Fenris nodded absently, accepting it. He wouldn’t admit it, but he knew what Aveline was feeling when she called him out on his own reaction to the newest murder. 

They eventually came to the double doors leading into what seemed to be a sizable mansion. Releasing his arm, Hawke immediately moved to where she could stand directly in front of him. She seemed to be waiting for something, her direct way of staring making him shift under her examination. 

“You will need to give an official statement about your connection with the victim,” Fenris informed her, his voice resonating a coldness that almost surprised him. 

Something unreadable passed over her face, vanishing as quickly as it came. She smiled her usual smile and nodded. “Of course. Tomorrow?” 

“That will be fine.” 

“Until then, goodnight,” her smile widened into a grin. “Detective.” 

With that she was gone. Fenris stood outside the mansion for a few more moments, frowning at the doors. He couldn’t decide what he should think of Hawke, yet one thing was certain –he probably shouldn’t be thinking of her at all. 

Then he moved away, resigning himself to going home. In truth his house was not far from here, but the prospect of returning wasn’t a pleasant one. He lived alone in a too-big house, one he was renting from the previous detective in Kirkwall –he only used one room, the bathroom and the kitchen. It didn’t matter, the house worked for what he needed. 

Unlocking the door and making his way upstairs, he tried to run all of the information about the murders through his head. When he reached his admittedly messy room and he removed his jacket, he was immediately distracted by the perfume still lingering on the fabric. Immediately he swore under his breath and ran his hands over his face. He had spent all of an hour with Hawke and this was already happening. He suddenly needed a drink.

***

Not only did Hawke know Aveline, but also most of the police force. She was already at the station, in the lounge with most of the staff on duty, when Fenris arrived. Aveline immediately caught Fenris’ eye as he was making his way toward his office and held a hand up to stop him. Hawke followed Aveline’s gaze and grinned at Fenris.

“Hawke told me you two spoke at length yesterday,” Aveline crossed her arms over her chest, regarding Fenris with amused scrutiny. “Should I take her statement or would you like to do the honors?” 

Fenris snorted. “I will.” 

Hawke seemed to know when it was her time to emerge. She was wearing softer colours today but the distinct red of her lips remained. “Are you talking about me, by any chance?” 

“Fenris said he will take your statement,” Aveline narrowed her eyes at Fenris. She briefly touched Hawke’s arm before disappearing into the staff lounge and telling everyone they needed to get back to work. 

Without saying anything, Fenris led Hawke to his office. It was small but tidy and serviceable, and he sat behind his desk with Hawke opposite. While Fenris wrote down what he needed to know about the victim and Hawke refreshed his memory, they didn’t deviate from the topic. It was only when they were finished and Hawke got up from her seat that things changed. Fenris stayed where he was, stupidly believing for a moment that she was standing to leave. Instead she made her way around the desk, her walk that of a predator’s. Beside Fenris now, she leaned against the desk and looked down at him, her head tilted to one side. 

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” She asked, unable to remove the smirk from her lips. 

“I have no idea.” 

“Perhaps you should ask me out somewhere. Hell, you may even enjoy yourself.” 

She was waiting for a reply, watching his every movement. Fenris automatically went for the evasive answer, “What about the consequences of asking someone who is basically a witness on a date?” 

Hawke’s eyes flashed with glee and he knew immediately he had fallen into a trap. She leaned forward and lowered her voice to a whisper, “Fuck consequences.” 

Fenris almost found himself smiling. In the back of his head, he knew that this couldn’t possibly end well, but when has that ever stopped him?


	2. The Hanged Man

How Hawke managed to convince Fenris into going to the Hanged Man, he still had no idea. She just grinned at him and would give her anything. As soon as they got to the Hanged Man, however, he was quickly deciding against that sentiment. 

The tavern stunk of the sickly sweet mixture of sweat and alcohol. The air was full of raucous laughter, explicit conversations and barely audible mumbles, making Fenris cringe as they walked inside. Some patrons glanced at them as they entered, most then continuing their business. Some waved or winked at Hawke in the low light, and she grinned back but didn’t go to them. 

As they moved to the bar, Hawke was all but leading him again, her small hand tucked comfortably inside his arm. He wanted to mind, almost desperately wanting to have even the smallest of irritation at her for it, but found he couldn’t. He wasn’t one for casual touching, but as far as Hawke was concerned he allowed it. If she was aware of his inward, silent struggle, she didn’t mention it. 

They ordered their drinks and waited. Hawke chatted familiarly with the bartender who was serving them, making him take twice as long. Just as they finally got their drinks, a loud, thoroughly amused voice called out, “Is there something you’re not telling me, Hawke?” 

Hawke’s face lit up with a grin and she turned on her heel to face the woman who had spoken. “Whatever do you mean, Isabela?” 

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t seen him before,” the woman –Isabela– placed both hands on her wide hips and made a show of looking Fenris up and down. “Usually you tell me things like this, Hawke. I’m offended.” 

“I’m allowed to keep some things to myself, aren’t I?” 

“When they look like him,” Isabela winked at Fenris, making him frown, “I suppose I’ll let you away with it. Just this once though, yeah? Can’t have you keeping anyone else from me.” 

With a small, fond shake of her head, Hawke sighed and turned back to Fenris, “This is Isabela, a dear friend of mine. I love her, but she’s a handful. And Isabela, this is Fenris,” Hawke clearly went to say more but stopped herself and laughed instead as she glanced at his serious expression. 

Isabela nodded knowingly, then took a seat at the bar. “I want all the details later, Hawke, and I’m going to hold you to that.” 

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” 

As they then moved to a vacant table, Hawke began giggling. At first Fenris didn’t hear it, but by the time they sat down, it was impossible not to. 

“Are you alright?” He eventually asked, just as composed herself. 

“I’m just brilliant. Do you take everything seriously? I won’t actually tell Isabela _that_ much, but the look on your face…” 

After a sigh and a slurred grunt that he needed something stronger to drink, he found himself able to relax slightly. They were sitting against one of the walls of the Hanged Man’s main room, a fairly secluded place compared to most of the tavern. It took all of Fenris’ will not to flinch when he felt a gentle touch of something against his knee. Hawke’s foot, he guessed by the satisfied look she was giving him from where she leaned back in the chair opposite him. 

“I noticed that you and Aveline seem close,” Fenris commented, trying to get the conversation rolling. He wasn’t exactly used to these sort of situations, and even if Hawke always seemed content with companionable silences he still wanted to try. 

“We’ve known each other for years. She’s fonder of me than she lets on.” 

“How did you meet?” 

“We came to Kirkwall at the same time and met en route. My family was from here, but I grew up in Ferelden. Where are you from? I’ve caught the hints of an accent.” 

“I have lived all over Tevinter, but Seheron was where I lived before here.” He knew how tense he sounded saying even just that sentence, and Hawke evidently heard it too. She didn’t push him and moved on, a grin bursting onto her face as she started to talk about her siblings. 

After a few more drinks and with the conversation flowing a little more easily, Fenris found himself actually enjoying the evening. Hawke’s lively way of speaking and bright expressions drowned out the hum of the rest of the tavern. Granted it was mostly Hawke talking and Fenris listening, but that failed to matter. 

During a brief lapse in conversation, wild laughter from the upstairs part of the Hanged Man caught both of their attentions. Something passed over Hawke’s face and suddenly she was on her feet, moving around the table. “Come on,” she encouraged Fenris up, holding her hand out to him. Fenris shot her a dubious glance before downing the rest of his drink and pushing himself up. She took his hand and immediately began leading the way up the stairs, Fenris trailed behind her. He was too captivated by the sight of her to care; the now-messy curls of her dark hair, the purposeful sway of her hips in her mauve dress. Her cheeks were flushed pink in a way they hadn’t been when they first arrived. She glanced back at him a few times, blue eyes full of mischief. 

They came to what seemed to be a bedroom full of people crowded around a table. At the head of the table, a dwarf was standing, dramatically gesturing as he spoke. He paused when he saw Hawke, then waved her over. “Sorry, folks,” the dwarf shrugged at the rest of the people around the table, “Hawke takes precedence. Next time, though, I’m all yours.” 

As the people were leaving, many saying something to the dwarf or each other as they exited, Fenris leaned toward Hawke to speak quietly to her, “Are you known by everyone in the city?” 

She laughed and shrugged casually. “I suppose you could say that.” 

Now that everyone was gone, the dwarf was regarding them with a curious expression. It wasn’t unlike the one Isabela had bestowed them with. “You’re holding an elf, Hawke.” 

“Oh, no, I didn’t notice!” Hawke spun melodramatically to face Fenris, reaching up to touch the pointed tip of one of his ears. He tried not to shiver. “I didn’t even see his ears, or his pretty eyes,” she touched the underside of his chin briefly, winked at him then flung herself away, “Oh, whatever shall I do?” 

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. I’m still sticking with my initial sentiment, though,” the dwarf settled his eyes on Fenris. “And who exactly are you?” 

“Fenris,” he answered, not really knowing what else would suffice. 

“And this is Varric,” Hawke reverted to her normal self, crossing her arms over her chest. “Another good friend of mine, who suspiciously stopped whatever he was saying when we came in.” 

Varric held both hands up in his defense. “Look, I wanted it to be a surprise! You know how much I love surprising you.” 

“Are you going to tell me now?” 

“They were being my test audience,” Varric laughed sheepishly, and explained further for Fenris’ benefit. “I’m an author, and I just wanted to see how my latest story would be received. Picture this: a fantasy epic with a sarcastic, beautiful warrior woman as its lead. My inspiration, of course, is Hawke –but the surprise has gone completely out the window. I didn’t know you were here tonight, otherwise…”

“It’s alright. That’s actually sweet, Varric. I was going to be here,” she grinned at Fenris, “But I succeeded in convincing a certain someone that they should take me out.” 

“Don’t worry,” Varric mumbled, “She has that effect on people.” 

Someone coughed from behind them, intentionally gaining their attention. A waitress stood in the doorway, peering inside. She tersely mentioned someone trying to put their bill on Varric’s tab, then left before she could answer any of his rapid-fire questions. It was probably on purpose. “If you’ll excuse me,” Varric huffed, swiftly making his way around the table. “Apparently I’m in high demand tonight. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.” 

Hawke scoffed. “You’re willing to do most things, Varric.” 

He walked backward for a moment as he replied, grinning widely, “Especially for you, Hawke.” 

Fenris stared at the door for a few more moments once Varric was gone, until Hawke nudged him softly with her elbow. “Don’t mind Varric, that almost-flirting is just his way of showing affection.” 

“Do your friends always spend time here?” 

“Varric currently lives here, and Isabela may as well. I didn’t mean for you to run into both of them, but I couldn’t help myself when I realized Varric was here.” 

It almost seemed like an apology cloaked in different words. Fenris didn’t take Hawke as the sort to apologize, and registered vaguely that something was wrong. “I do not mind, really.” 

Hawke watched him for a moment, completely unreadable. “Alright. What now? We could get another drink, go somewhere else?” 

It was getting late, Fenris was still aware enough to realize that. “If we are not careful, we will end up missing the last train back to Hightown.” Walking through Lowtown at this time of night wasn’t advisable, but the train tracks which ran right through Kirkwall were ideal for quick transport through the city. The last train, however, was not as late as many would like. 

Huffing, Hawke nodded. “We could just call a cab, but you’re right,” she tilted her head. “I’m sure we’ll have other chances to go out.” 

Fenris couldn’t stop the smallest of smiles that pulled at his lips. He looked down to the floor, then to the door. “I’m sure.” 

Despite their attempts to leave, they ended up staying another hour. First Varric stopped them, insisting that he needed to have a drink with Hawke before she left. Isabela then did the same, and by the time they left Fenris was certain they had missed the train. The station wasn’t far from the Hanged Man, and as they stepped out into the cold of the night, they mutually agreed to check before finding another way home. 

The sky was black, the clouds blocking out the stars and most of the moon. The streetlights were their only source of patchy illumination, only with the faint glow from the houses and apartments above them. The alcohol in Fenris’ system inhibited him from feeling most of the cold, despite the clouds of white in front of their mouths. Holding his arm like usual, Hawke was warm and slightly unsteady by his side as they made their way down the sidewalk. 

When Hawke stopped dead in her tracks, it took Fenris a moment to realize why. There was yelling and scuffling coming from an alleyway. Fenris didn’t have the chance to say anything before Hawke was away. She released him and with a surprisingly steady pace, made immediately for the alleyway. Fenris followed without a second thought, barely two feet behind her. 

The noises were coming from two figures, one large and imposing and the other tiny. There was barely any light here, but it was evident what was going on. The girl, an elf of small stature, flung herself away from the man with a cry. The man grabbed her, pulling her back to him and holding something against her back. Fenris caught a flash of it: a pistol. Hawke halted, standing her ground defiantly. 

“Look,” the man sneered, his voice tight and guff. “All I want is the girl’s purse. Why did you have to come and ruin it?” 

“Put the gun down,” Hawke instructed in what was nearly a growl. “And walk away.” 

“Please,” the girl was pleaded brokenly. “Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t shoot! I tried to tell you, I don’t have any money. I’m sorry, but I just don’t.” 

Fenris tried to grab Hawke as she recklessly stepped forward but she twisted out of his grip. Hands up to show she was unarmed, Hawke approached carefully. “Just let her go, and you can walk away. No one will stop you.” 

The man hesitated, then threw the girl at Hawke. While Hawke did catch her, they stumbled backwards. Gun held out in front of him, the man fired what he most likely meant to be a warning shot. Hawke and the girl recoiled and were on the ground within a moment. Fenris felt a jolt of shock at the sound, his heart pounding. Red hot pain seared through his upper arm. Instantly his hand went to it, and his unfocused eyes saw it came away with a dark substance. 

“Shit,” Hawke swore, by his side now. The man must be gone. “Fenris, you’re bleeding.” 

“Just a flesh wound,” he said without realizing, the calmness in his voice startling even himself. 

“I’m sorry, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t been walking all by myself, this late at night, this wouldn’t have happened. It was daft of me, I’m sorry,” the girl was babbling, lingering nervously. “Are you sure it’s just a flesh wound? I don’t think I’ve ever seen that much blood.” 

Fenris numbly thought she was over exaggerating, but he was always aware of how all of the drink they had may be influencing his judgment. Hawke’s hands felt like hot fire as they pressed into the wound, trying to stop the flow. It seemed to work to an extent. 

“Where do you live?” Hawke asked the girl. 

“Nearby, in the Alienage. I’m so sorry.” 

“Run home. I’ll come looking for you tomorrow to make sure you’re alright.” 

The girl paused, her wide, panicked eyes glancing between them. Then she nodded, and was off. 

Regardless of the blood on her hands, Hawke tore a strip from her underskirt and bound his arm. He wasn’t sure when he started leaning against the nearest building, but its support was welcome. Nausea clenched his stomach, and the logical part of his mind told him that was just the shock. 

“I know a doctor,” Hawke told him softly. “I trust him, and he’s not that far from here. He can stitch this up, I’m sure of it.” 

Fenris just nodded. Hawke took his uninjured arm and pulled him off the wall, and they began their slow journey to Darktown.


	3. The Clinic

The doctor Hawke mentioned turned out to be a scruffy blonde man who smiled whenever he looked at Hawke and scowled when his gaze turned to Fenris. He was about Hawke’s age, and was still awake in what seemed to be a makeshift clinic, despite the time of night. 

“Hawke–” 

“Look, I know, it’s past midnight but I wouldn’t have come unless it was necessary,” she told the doctor, full of worry. She was pushing Fenris to the vacant table in the clinic’s center. He just let her, his head light and his arm throbbing. “Please, Anders.” Fenris almost scoffed as Hawke all but batted her eye lashes at this Anders and charmed him into doing what she wanted. 

Anders’ expression softened slightly. “Alright, let me look.” 

Fenris was seated on the table now, and made a noise in the back of his throat as Anders harshly gripped his arm. After looking over the various equipment on the table, Anders took a pair of scissors and began cutting the crude tourniquet. “Hawke, there is an antiseptic wash in the second cupboard in the store room,” Anders instructed, glancing in her direction as she nodded and immediately went to retrieve it. “So,” Anders continued coolly, holding the cut bandage around Fenris’ arm for the time being. “How exactly did you get shot, of all things?” 

“A girl was being mugged. Hawke ran to the rescue.” 

“And you ended up being shot.” When Fenris didn’t reply, focused instead on the various splatters or drops of blood on his clothing, Anders snorted. “You two were on a date.” It wasn’t phrased as a question. 

Fenris sighed, a headache beginning to split his skull. “Is that any of your business?” 

“She’s my friend,” Anders answered tersely, as if that was a good enough reason. After a few tense moments, he spoke again, this time lower, “She’s too good for me, she’s too good for you. She’s too good for all of damned Kirkwall.” 

Fenris wouldn’t have replied even if Hawke hadn’t returned. She gave the antiseptic to Anders and he began work on Fenris’ arm. The wash stung but Fenris gritted his teeth against it, refusing to make sound. Instead of inspecting Anders as he worked –the idea of watching someone stitch Fenris’ own flesh made him shiver with wrongness– Fenris kept his attention on Hawke. She leaned against the table, removing her high heels. He briefly wondered how she had been out all night in them and then walked him all of the way to Darktown. Those thoughts vanished when she discarded them and leaned against the table beside him, hands on her hips contemplatively. 

“Where would I find a phone?” Hawke asked. 

Fenris felt Anders do something, probably finish a stitch, then reply, “You’re better off staying here, Hawke. There are spare beds at the back.” 

“Only if you’re sure. I’ve done my fair share of burdening today, don’t you think?” She meant it to be sarcastic, but with the weariness seeping into her voice it just sounded bitter. 

“I’m certain.” 

The alcohol was beginning to wear off in unpleasant ways as Anders finished on Fenris’ arm. “Seven stitches,” Anders declared, stepping back as he whipped his hands on a cloth. “You’ll have to strengthen your arm again when it heals because of torn muscles, but that’s a while away,” he visibly hesitated, then nodded. “Goodnight.” 

“Thank you, Anders,” Hawke smiled and he left them alone in the clinic’s main room. 

They found the beds easily enough. There were three of them, all unoccupied, single beds lit by a single wall light and behind a ragged curtain. As Fenris sat down on the furthest one, he heard a snort of laughter. Hawke had the back of her hand to her mouth, and she was laughing into it. As Fenris gave her a curious look, she shook her head and moved to a nearby sink. She washed her hands then brought a bowl of warm water and a cloth to Fenris. “Usually dates with me go flawlessly,” she told him, surprising him as she took his hands and began washing them. He watched her face as she did so, noticing the line between her eyebrows that could be caused by annoyance, frustration or worry. “We’d have a few drinks, chat, laugh. Maybe go back to mine place or theirs,” she glanced up at Fenris, trying to read him. She gave him her signature smirk. “Have a little fun. Usually,” she snorted another laugh, “They don’t get shot. I’m terribly sorry about all this.” 

“What could have happened, if you didn’t hear them? This,” he pointed his chin at his fresh bandage, “Has to be preferable than the alternative.” 

He almost placed a hand on her arm. Almost. He wasn’t sure what stopped him; pessimism, tiredness or maybe the sharp pain in his head. Hawke sighed noisily, now drying his hands. He still had blood on him, dried into his clothing and on his skin. So did Hawke, smearings of it marring the bottom of her dress where she had torn it to bind his arm. What a pair they made. 

When Hawke was finished, she took the bowl and cloths back to the sink and just left them there. She meandered back to him, regarding him with an unreadable expression. She stood before him for barely a moment before her hands were on either side of his face. He didn’t have the chance to think before her lips brushed against his. It was brief, but far from chaste. There was a heat in that kiss Fenris couldn’t name. “I hope that starts to make up for it,” Hawke whispered, an inch away from his face now. Not waiting for him to reply, she moved away and turned off the light, plunging them into blackness.

***

Perhaps if it had been anyone else, Fenris would have been put off. He inwardly hunted for the familiar cold anger in his chest, yet found nothing of the sort. Their situation was truly a unique one for a first date, but Fenris didn’t think anything less of Hawke. In fact, she had shown another side of herself Fenris found himself admiring. Despite her sarcasm and use of flirting to get what she wanted, she was ready to leap to the help of that young girl. He didn’t care that he got hurt in the process, regardless of how he wished to.

As he woke, feeling groggy and his wound throbbing, he wanted to regret that. It was reasonable, logical, to regret going out with someone who had accidently got you shot. Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t blame Hawke for what happened, especially not when he recalled that kiss from last night. 

Remembering the wound and the kiss also meant remembering where exactly he was. Groaning, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Hawke was absent from the small bed adjacent his, and the furthest bed looked untouched. Frowning to himself, Fenris pushed aside the itchy blanket and sat on the edge of the bed. His head was swimming but he managed to get to his feet for all of about two seconds before he sat back down. He wasn’t drunk last night, he was too accustomed to alcohol for that, but the wound coupled with the drinking had affected him more than he realized. After a few more moments, he stood again, this time a little more steady. He found where he had abandoned his jacket and shoes in the dark, slipping the latter on and sighing at the former. 

The curtain was pushed to one side and Hawke stepped through. She was wearing her high heels again and grinned at Fenris as she approached. It was her confidence, Fenris decided, that appealed to him. He had seen her hesitate a few times, but it was barely noticeable. Instead she carried herself with a boldness that complimented her, and smiled knowingly and easily. Fenris caught himself staring and looked away. 

“I’ve called a cab,” she told him, keeping a surprising distance. “It will be here soon. Anders said he wanted to look at the stitches quickly as well.” 

Nodding, Fenris followed her out of their little cove. The clinic was already becoming busy, people standing around and sitting in chairs that had appeared overnight. Anders was checking a woman and motioned for Hawke and Fenris to wait. It didn’t take long for him to come over. Fenris weathered fairly rough treatment as Anders ripped the fabric of his sleeve further to unwrap the wound then check the stitches. Fenris wasn’t bothered by Anders’ lack of respect for him, but did wonder how Hawke had come to be friends with his man. 

“Looks fine,” Anders commented as he wrapped it with a clean cloth. “Just keep it dry for the time being. You could go to another doctor if you wanted, but be prepared for questions if you do.”

“When do the stitches need taken out?” 

“Give it a week.” 

Anders gave Hawke a look that Fenris couldn’t read, then returned to his patients. Fenris didn’t feel the need to hang around any longer and began leaving, inwardly relieved when Hawke didn’t object. Outside the clinic and waiting on the street, Hawke went to say something but cut herself off when a cab pulled up. 

It wasn’t until they were nearly at Hightown Hawke spoke again. The silence hadn’t been awkward or tense, it just simply was. Fenris felt vaguely unwell and his splitting headache was back with vengeance, so had actually be thankful for the time simply to sit. 

“I was thinking of going down to Lowtown to find that girl this afternoon,” Hawke said conversationally, as if what had happened last night was an everyday occurrence. “You’re welcome to join me, Fenris. That is,” she chuckled slightly, shaking her head, “If you want to, after all that.” 

Fenris didn’t have to think. “What time?” 

Hawke studied him for a moment, then burst out in grin. “I was thinking at two. You could meet me at my place. That will give us both plenty of time to be, ah, no longer bloody.” 

The cab pulled up to Hawke’s house and Fenris walked home from there. It wasn’t long before he saw Hawke again, once he had showered, eaten and changed. His headache was easing as well and he put that down to a shot of whiskey. While his arm was sore and tingly, it was only a flesh wound. It certainly wasn’t going to stop him from going to see Hawke again. 

She looked as though they hadn’t spent the night sleeping at a clinic. Her hair and makeup were done fresh, and she had donned a blue polka dot shirtwaist dress. He was drab and bland compared to her, feeling like a speck compared to a sun. As always, he didn’t mind. Why would he? No matter how he wanted to distance himself from her, he couldn’t. She really was like the sun, with her own gravity and glaring beauty. He was helpless. 

“You should’ve heard the lecture I got from my brother,” Hawke laughed as Fenris approached, glancing toward her house’s double doors. “Actually, I think he’s watching. Well, shall we him something else to fume about?” She placed a feather-light kiss on the corner of his mouth, meeting his eyes and grinning as she pulled back. Helpless was definitely the right word.


End file.
